Dreamworld
by babygirlfred
Summary: When a sting operation goes terribly wrong, Munch is left drifting in and out of conciousness. A series of unusual events occur leaving him questioning what is real and what is not.
1. Chapter 1

The red light envelopes me in its glow and then fades out to circle the night sky. My eyes are transfixed as it loops around again and again. The bus is jerking me back and forth as it races through the streets and I am feeling nauseous. Still I am entranced by that red light. There is a commotion around me. Medics are speaking around me but I can't make out what they are saying. Their voices are hollow, empty sounding. They are handing things back and forth across but I have lost my glasses and all I can see are blurry figures hovering around me. Bile is rising in my throat and I try to catch the paramedic's attention but I can't move; I can't make a sound. A moment later I have the sour taste of vomit on my tongue and begin to gag as it trickles back down my throat. I try to cry out again but I only choke. The red light seems to be slowing and my eyelids are getting heavy. Someone leans in close to me and shouts something that I can't understand. It sounds like Fin, but I can barely see him. I try to tell him that I can't understand him but all that comes out is a desperate gurgle. I can't seem to keep my eyes open and he shakes me hard.

"John! Stay with me! Hey he's choking here!" There is another face in front of me and a set of fingers in my mouth. This can't be sanitary. There is a tube placed in my mouth and there is a sensation of suction; when it is removed I can breathe again. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion, even voices. "Hang in there partner," Fin tells me. Except it sounds more like 'phaaaaaardneeeeeer'. It's almost comical and I want to tell him how funny he sounds. I try to laugh but it isn't laughter that comes out. The tears sting as they slide down my cheeks and I am a little embarrassed. I am trying to remember how I ended up in the back of an ambulance but everything is fuzzy. I wonder how bad off I am, or where I have been hit but all I feel is cold. "Take it easy man. We're almost there." I try to move again but my limbs seem heavy. I concentrate and try to focus on Fin.

"I can't feel anything," I manage to croak, "I can't move." I feel his hand on my shoulder. "Fin…."

"It's alright John. They gave you morphine and you're strapped to a gurney. You're going to be fine. Just hang on." I want to ask him what happened but I am having trouble catching my breath. This catches the attention of the paramedics and they slip an oxygen mask over my face before I have a chance to try and get answers. I want to know what happened. I want to know where she is. I need to know that she is safe; I promised that I would keep her safe.

Fin stays beside my stretcher as I am wheeled into the emergency room and he is trying to ease my anxiety. His furrowed brow and tight lips are betraying his words of encouragement though and I am unconvinced. I am being jostled around as my gurney is rushed down a long hallway and it has made me nauseous again. I am wheeled into the trauma bay and as I am lifted onto the table I catch sight of my legs. They are covered in blood and charred skin. What remains of my pants is plastered to them like paper mache. What the hell happened? I try to remember but everything is hazy; this damn morphine. Fin must catch the look on my face because he lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder and tells me that they are not as bad as they look. I can catch bits and pieces of what the doctors are saying. Something about smoke inhalation, third degree; I hear one of them say that I am going into shock. Shock, now there is an understatement. I look up at Fin and despite his reassurances his face is twisted with worry. He is glancing back and forth between me and the next trauma bay and I can hear some kind of commotion over there. Is she over there? Is she alright? I need to know if she is alright. I have vomited again and the mask is making me choke again. Fin looks down and before a nurse ushers him out of the room he tells me that they are doing everything that they can for her. Everything they can? God, what the hell happened? There is a searing pain in my legs and I try to see what is happening, but my neck is braced. My limbs jerk against the restraints uncontrollably and I cry out. The mask is muffling the sound and I try in vain to catch the attention of the medical team. Why won't anyone tell me what is going on? Tears stream down my cheeks, as I cry out again, the pain worse not then before. My eyes shoot open but all I see is white. I am finding it hard to catch my breath and my heart is racing. It catches the attention of the doctor and a moment later the nurse adjusts my IV. I am very cold and the room is fading away. I struggle to keep my eyes open and catch sight of Fin peering in through the window. He is looking increasingly worried as his eyes dart back and forth between me and the next trauma bay. I try to concentrate; to keep my eyes open but my eyelids won't cooperate. The light is beginning to fade and I am no longer cold. I can hear the medical staff moving around me but it feels like they are increasingly farther away. I am fading into the dark and as I give in to it I feel warmer. In fact I am suddenly feeling rather comfortable and my breathing becomes less labored. I feel a presence, as if someone is standing next to me. "Sleep," a man's voice tells me, in a soft but authoritative tone. It's comforting and oddly familiar. I keep trying to place it but my mind is hazy and I can't concentrate. "It's time to sleep. Rest now." The voice fades away and I sink into the darkness


	2. Chapter 2

I wake on a sofa, in an unfamiliar room, with a headache. The room is relatively dark but there is sunlight coming from somewhere behind me. I have been covered with a blanket and my head is resting on a throw pillow. I try to move; my muscles are stiff, but I persist. I move the blanket aside and sit up, perhaps too quickly because I feel a little light headed. I sit for a moment with my head hanging and then look up and glance around the room. It is a small, drabby room, with a worn brown carpet and beige walls. There a coffee table in front of me and two end tables on either side of the couch. I look in the direction of the light and see a small, round table with two chairs. In one of the chairs, sits a tall, slightly built man, with wire rim glasses reading a newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee. "Hello John," he says, looking up from the newspaper. Our eyes meet and I look deep into them for a moment. I should be surprised to see him but I am not. He looks so at ease so commonplace sitting there, as if this were every morning. His worn, navy blue cardigan hangs loosely over his bony shoulders as it would have on mine. Instinctively I know that the middle of the three wooden buttons is missing. There is a small radio on the edge of the table, and I can barely hear the soft strains of a violin concerto, Vivaldi I believe. He is hunched over the newspaper, creating an odd curvature of his spine, which will still be there when he stands up. "Would you like some coffee?" His voice is exactly as I would have expected, right down to the thick eastern European accent. "Or perhaps tea? You seem to have a fondness for tea these days." I step closer and run my hand through my hair. There were so many things that I had imagined myself saying to him if I was ever given the opportunity but now my mind is blank and I can't think of a thing.

"Where am I?" The place is strangely familiar but I can't seem to place it.

"Lower Essex St."

"Essex Street?"

"You don't remember, but you lived here as a child; a very young child. Please, sit." I wordlessly pull out a chair and sit across from him. He offers me coffee again, but the nauseous feeling has returned and I don't think that I can stomach it.

"How did I get here? I must be dreaming. I…" I lose my train of thought, more confused than ever.

"Who can tell," he laughs, "what is a dream and what is not. Maybe all that has happened before was a dream."

"Was it?" I can't believe I am asking this, but then again I can't be sure of anything right now.

"As if I would know." My headache is worsening and at his insistence I take a few sips of coffee, but it's bitter and thick. I sticks in my throat and I have to force it down.

"I don't remember any dream ever hurting this much," I say wincing as my head continues to pound. "Why am I here?"

"I wouldn't know. How would I know?"

"You are no help at all. Why are you here?"

"To guide you."

"Guide me where?"

"That is not for me to know."

"This doesn't sound like a very well planned trip. If you ask me, you've been reading too many fortune cookies."

"You will figure things out. You always do." The pain in my head is nearly blinding at this point. I turn my eyes away from the light and groan.

"I was drinking wasn't I? That's what this is? A hangover?" He laughs; a warm but low chuckle that reminds me curiously of my own.

"That's highly unlikely. Although I haven't had a hangover in a very long time." He is smiling a little and there is a twinkle in his eye. I am sure that he knows more than he is telling me but there is a look of genuine affection in his eyes and it comforts me.

"That must be it. I was drinking and I fell asleep…..watching The Matrix? I don't understand this."

"What is The Matrix?" I chuckle.

"I guess you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? Or do you keep tabs on things?"

"I check in from time to time."

"Why here? I mean I don't have any attachments to this place. I don't even remember it. I haven't died have I?" He leans forward and puts his hand over mine.

"No, Thank God." The familiar scent of pipe tobacco drifts of him and I take a moment to breathe it in, remembering how it always clung to him like a cloud. I had forgotten until now, what he smelled like; I had made myself forget.

"Well then why am I here?"

"To fix what is wrong, I suppose."

"Well, what the hell is wrong then?" He glares at me sharply and I am a child again, being told to watch my language. "I'm sorry."

"How am I to know what's wrong? This is your experience, I am just here to help."

"With all due respect, you haven't been much help so far." He sighs and squeezes my hand.

"I have no argument for that but perhaps I can redeem myself."

"So, what should I do?" He leans back and smiles. "Pop?"

"Open your eyes."


End file.
